Sing songs in my head
by Hannah-AngelOfMusic
Summary: Christine is haunted by a terrifying voice inside her head. The difference between fantasy and reality become dangerously unclear...
1. Chapter 1

"Stop this." I murmured, under my breath in my darkened room. I shook my head frantically, the dark curls blurred in my clouded vision.

"Get out of my head!" I stood from my crouch, running across the room and slamming my head against the opposite wall. The action only heightened the busy whisperings in my head. I couldn't suppress another sob, and I collapsed on the cold floor, shaking and hitting the ground with my palms.

The voices laughed, and their silvery, melodic giggles both numbed my head and heightened my franticness. I heard briefly a door open and close, and someone's strong arms around me. "Tell them to go, Raoul!" I moaned, the voices at once dying down to a dull thud in the back of my mind. "I can't do this!"

I let him cradle my shaking form for some time. He shushed me, though not in a soothing way, more of an agitated way. I looked up at his face, and sobbed again at the tight look of disgust he aimed at the wall.

He was angry with me. I didn't know why. How could I stop it? I'd tried everything. I think, at one time, he was genuinely worried about me, but as it got more frequent and more violent he began to loathe my screaming and whimpering. I thought he wouldn't get anymore hurt at me as he did, but alas, I was wrong. Erik made sure of that.

He was the worst. I could handle the dizzying voices in my head with time and practice, but it was him I could never get over. His deafening roar in my ear, his blinding presence so I could see nothing but him. I wasn't sure about the reality of the voices screaming inside me, but Erik I was sure of. How could nobody else see?!

Why did he have to plague me with his presence? It scared me, unnerved me, fascinated me. His beautiful, hypnotic voice I could never shake free of. His maddeningly mysterious mask that he hid himself away with. His tales of music and beauty and love, that haunted my dreams.

His terrifying orders he gave to me, his obsessive hold he had over me, and his utter hatred for Raoul. It scared me so much, I had been reduced to no more than a shivering wreck, confined to one darkened room in the largest manor in Paris. I touched Raoul's face nervously with my finger. He blinked, and looked down, grimacing a smile before he let me go, sending me crumpling down onto the floor.

"Raoul, wait!" I murmured, too tired to get up. He stopped at the door, and shuffled his feet.

"Oh, Christine, I have to go. I was halfway through the door last time. Just ignore them for a bit, please keep the noise down!" After that he gently pulled the door shut, to keep himself from slamming it in his impatience and anger.

I curled up in a ball, and held in the sobs that racked my body again. The voices started up again, and I tried my best to follow Raoul's parting advice, to no avail. Thankfully the noises quietened, but I knew it was a sign that their master was returning. I straightened up, rubbing away the tears from my eyes. I heard his whisper caress my skin and wind its way around my body;

"Christine, my love."

I shuddered, and nodded to acknowledge his presence. He laughed, and a nervous chuckle issued from my mouth in imitation. "Come now, Christine. After all these years you wouldn't be frightened of me!" He laughed again, and I gazed at the floor, trembling. He must have noticed.

"Sit on the bed, Christine." He ordered menacingly. "I need to give you the truth."

Every day he would do this, sit me on the bed and tell me the lies I had heard that day. He said he did it because he was my 'truth teller'. He told me no lies and that is why he was the only one I could trust. "Raoul is a liar," he hissed, and I shook my head defiantly.

"My husband is no liar," I squeaked, terrified of his anger, "He loves me-"

"He does not love you, I love you!" Erik roared, shaking me by the shoulders with his large, rough hands, "Nobody else!" I nodded quickly, squeezing my lips together so I kept quiet.

His eyes bulged, as this angered him more than anything else. "You…dare…follow his orders?" He whispered, stepping away from me. "His orders? The man that has confined you to this dank room, all alone. Thank God I am here, to look after and to love you. He thinks he's helping you. Bah!"

He slapped his thigh, a bellowing laugh shaking the foundations of the mansion. "I'm the only one who can help you, and one day he will, and you will, both realise that!" Before I could protest his mouth was on mine, and a spasm of shock ripped through my stomach.

He laughed again, yet his eyes looked soft and tender. I blinked, and he had vanished.

The only thing I could hear was a short yell from downstairs. "Jesus, Christine, please be quiet!" And I was the entire night.


	2. Chapter 2

I came down to the silent breakfast table, complete with silent husband and silent servants. I said nothing and sat down quietly, nibbling on a little toast. I looked up at Raoul, and immediately regretted it. His eyes were narrowed in a state of impatience and exasperation, and is mouth wore itself in a hard line.

"Good morning, husband." I said it quietly and hesitantly. Raoul's eyes snapped to me, looking me up and down before replying.

"Hmm." I kept my eyes on my plate, taking a sip of water. The voices started up again, and I stiffened, trying not to make too much of a deal out of it. Raoul noticed my struggle, and his eyes softened, his lips turning from squeezed white to a light pink.

So he did still love me, if at least a little. Hope flooded through me, and I tried even harder to not make the voices' presence inside me known to anyone. It continued like this in silence for ten minutes, and I had worked up the courage to pick up my glass again. I reached for it, grasping it in my slim fingers.

Taking it to my mouth, I scanned the floor in front of my eyes. There, standing in the corner, Erik watched with his lasso. I screamed a little and dropped the glass, shattering it in a thousand pieces. Raoul yelled and jumped up, looking over at the direction I was looking in. Erik had gone, and once again Raoul had missed him. Raoul turned eyes filled with anger and…was that a hint of sadness? Towards me. I lowered my gaze at the floor. "I…I'm so-"

"It's alright, Christine." He muttered through clenched teeth, stepping away from the table as two servants hurriedly cleaned up the mess. "You…you weren't to blame." Without another glance, he strode out of the room, stopping a little to kick at the wall as he passed. I watched him in complete silence, until the doors slammed shut, and I sank into my chair, utterly heartbroken.

I rested my head on the cool wood of the table, soothing the constant migraine I had a little, before a small servant touched my arm, and led me to my room. Before I even sat down on the bed, I was greeted by Erik, who was sitting on the small chaise lounge, watching the door.

He stood up, two foot away from me, looking me up and down just as Raoul had, but the emotions in his face were quite the opposite. His lips were slightly parted, as if in awe, and his masked eyes were wide and watering slightly. I stood still, letting him make the first move, as I always did. He nodded slightly, and removed the distance between us, holding me to his strong body passionately.

I gasped in surprise, but made no other gesture. His grip around me tightened, and I felt safe and wanted in his strong arms. I relaxed, melting into his embrace and we stayed like that for what seemed like hours. It was finally he who sighed and pulled away. My fingers lingered on his chest, and I moved with him as he sat down on the chair, me at his feet. It was then my turn to sigh as I leant against his legs.

"Why do you not show yourself to others, Erik?" I asked, my eyes closed, too tired to attempt to weep. "Why must I be the only one to see you?" He made no sound, only adjusted his position as I turned to meet his green eyes. "You are the only one I wish to see," he murmured, "Thus you are the only one who can see me, in turn." I nodded, accepting that that would be the only explanation I would get.

I turned back to face the wall ahead, and I fell asleep against him, the warmth of his legs radiating through my very core. It had gotten dark by the time I awoke, and I saw Raoul standing in my view, looking at the area above my head. I turned around eagerly, but I found myself without Erik, asleep on the hard floor.

Again I noticed the look of disgust on my husband's face, but with the memory of Erik still encasing me with joy and awe, I did not even flinch. "Wife," He began, not even bothering to look at me as he spoke, "It is clear to the household, and to me, that you are becoming increasingly unwell." I stood quickly, swaying a little as I hit maximum height, and grasped at his cold hand, realising immediately what this meant. "Raoul, please," I whispered, rubbing his palm gently with my fingertips, tears leaking into my eyes, "You must not do this!"

"It is with deep sadness, that I am forced to submit you to an insane asylum, where you will benefit from their care." He sounded, and looked, so detached, formal, cold. But his eyes showed the darkest sadness I could have ever seen. I dropped to my knees, and kissed his hands and wrists. He tensed, but did not pull away.

I felt warm tears fall into my hair and drip onto my face, mingling with my own. I stood again, and looked him in the eyes. His shoulders shook as he took in my expression, and I embraced him cautiously. "Would you not allow me a chance to prove myself?" I asked softly, but my own hands gripped a little harder at his own. His face was set, but I caught his eyes flicker down to our linked hands.

It was true, I did love him. I loved him as a childhood love, a first love. What I had with him was a love a wife had for an absent husband for thirty years, and I had suffered in six months; memories. I loved Erik because I did not understand him, he was my little obsession, and I his. His voice and power captivated me, as my voice and innocence captivated him.

Our love was unique, for it could not be experienced by another. Why, it couldn't even be seen by another! And if only it could! "Raoul," I began tentatively, unsure of how to word my request, "If only you were to see Erik, you would believe me! Give me three days to prove that I am sane as anyone, and rescue me from this fate you have chosen for me!" He blinked hard, and a few more tears ran down his long, handsome face. He sighed, and cupped my tear-stained face with his hands.

"Christine, it is not that I don't believe you, it is that I wish we were like we used to be. Erik and his angels have taken over our marriage, and both of our lives. If you can keep him away for three days, then we can try to live our normal lives again. If not, then I'm sorry, but an asylum would be the best thing for you." I nodded, resigned and accepting of my ultimatum.

I kissed him lightly on the lips, and hurried into bed, closing my eyes unlike my usual frantic staring. I heard a slight sigh escape the corner of the room, and the door shut quietly as my husband left. I opened my eyes wide, to see Erik in the corner, his eyes gleaming with anger. I turned my body away from, to face the wall with silent guilt. I only heard one line before I fell asleep.

"Today you have wronged me, and both of you shall suffer for it."


	3. Chapter 3

Christine woke eagerly, forgetting the distressing words of Erik before she fell asleep, ready to prove her phantom's reality to her husband. She dressed, with the voices at a minimum today. Flitting down the stairs, a bright smile on her face, she met Raoul at the breakfast table, where he stood politely and in waiting.

His face brightened at Christine's dazzling grin, and she felt hope for the first time in months. A servant pulled out the chair for her, and she sat, eating without hesitation. Raoul did not eat, only sat and watched her, a small smile dancing around his flawless face. Christine looked up at him, frowning. "You're not eating," She said, after a huge mouthful of toast.

Raoul laughed quietly. "I think your appetite is enough for both of us. Besides, I'm happy just to sit here and look at you being so happy." Christine smiled and looked at her plate, relishing the peace she felt in Raoul's tender words. She let herself push her mission from her mind, and just live in her husband's smile. Christine pushed her hand forward across the table towards him, and he took it without hesitation, raising it to his lips and kissing it softly.

Christine shivered in pleasure, and a hint of something else. What was it? Oh God. It was anger. It was hatred and loathing.

Christine flinched away from Raoul's hand, guilty at Erik's entwined feelings inside of her. Had she really become so involved in her spectre that she held his feelings inside her own heart? Raoul sighed a little and pulled back from her, fiddling with his hands.

"I didn't think it would last," He murmured, his eyes watering in disappointment, "You're with him now, aren't you? I saw it in your eyes. Why do I let you go through this? Why do I let you put me through this?! You need to stop now, or-"

Christine's eyes watered, and her face crumpled and released a desperate sound, like that of a wounded animal. The servants hasted out of the room, as Raoul stood up viciously. Christine winced, and fell to the floor, crawling to Raoul's feet. She grovelled underneath him, kissing the hem of his trousers. "Please Raoul, don't send me to the asylum, I beg of you!" Raoul looked at her, disgusted, and stepped backwards.

Christine fell to the floor and curled into a ball rocking backwards and forwards. Raoul ran his hands through his hair in exasperation and despair. "Please, Christine, you think I want to send you there? But I can't see you like this anymore, I just can't. It breaks my heart every time I see you like this, when I see you with him. God damn it, that you love a figment of your own imagination more than me! Whether you love me still or not, Christine, you are going to this asylum because you need help! We can work it out when you're well, but right now, I can't do this, I just can't!"

He leant his face onto the wall while Christine punched the floor until Raoul yelled in frustration and launched him at the door, hauling it open. "Take her out of my sight, for God's sake! Get her to the asylum! I've had enough!"

Christine screamed in protest as some burly servants picked her up under her arms and dragged her to a waiting carriage. Christine's heart broke as she realised it was already planned; the emergency arrest just in case it went wrong.

She dragged her heels, trying to plant them into the ground so she could never leave. The two men roughly pulled her along, and her screams faltered for a moment in surprise at the way she was being treated. She pushed her feet on either side of the carriage, and tensed up, shouting "No! No!" over and over.

The two men lifted her then, one with her feet, the other with her arms, and lay her on the back seat of the carriage. The door slammed shut by her head and Christine scrambled up to bang on the window. Raoul was not there, in fact, there was only one person to see her descent into madness. As the carriage jolted to life in the mist of the cool morning, the only man to regard her through half triumphant, half grief-stricken eyes was the very man who had caused her to do this.

Erik stood there in his darkness until the mist enveloped him.


	4. Chapter 4

**OK, does third person work for everyone? Enjoy, this one sounds a bit 'orrible, but bear with me, I planned it out on paper ;)**

The building was large, and stereotypically grey. The doors loomed ahead as Christine was dragged limply towards the ominous building. She vainly tried to thrust her heels into the ground, but was too tired to fight anymore. Raoul had gone, as had Erik. There was no one here for her now.

She whimpered hopelessly, as the large, mocking doors creaked open, and the rain spattered her face as it tumbled down to the ground. Old men in white coats greeted her gaolers, and she cringed as their bony, freezing hands pawed at her face and pulse, and their equally cold, impassive eyes looked into her own frightened, bloodshot ones.

The elder of the two doctors sighed, and ushered the servants to follow him, with Christine in tow. She continued her redundant squirms as they pulled her into a dark, damp room and lay her on the bed. They turned without a word, and strode to the door, without a backwards glance.

"Please don't leave me here," she croaked, crawling weakly off the thin mattress, "You would leave me here to die?!" The clanging door was her answer; their dying footsteps on the stone floor their laughter at Christine's 'madness'.

Christine sat alone in her cell, knees hugged under her chin as she sat alone. The voices started again, the sounds more daring in the gloom. She felt Erik's body wrap around her shuddering figure, and he held her close to him. After a while, Christine let out a frustrated sob and shoved his arm away from her shoulders and stood far away in the corner.

Erik laughed a little, and made to move towards her. "Don't touch me," she murmured, without turning to face him, "What have you done to me?"

"I warned you, my love, that you would suffer for your insolence."

"But like this? How you could be so heartless, so…so cruel!"

"My darling, listen to me!" Erik strode over to her, turning her roughly around by the shoulders and grasping her jaw upwards to him. "Now you are here, we will be free of that pathetic little boy you called Husband. Now it shall forever be you and me!"

"Not to mention the doctor's and psychologists who will forever be poking and prodding me! No, Erik, you say you have freed me from the insanities of what you call, my 'false marriage'. But now I really start to believe Raoul, my beautiful Raoul who you ripped away from me! Now, stuck in this hell, how can I understand fantasy from reality? Are you a reality? Is all that?"

She gestured to the window, to the dim moon and the hidden stars. "Erik, what I have with you is bliss, it is so beautiful to me that I so want to believe it's real. Now, seeing this grey old building, and the demon living in Raoul's eyes, I understand that you're beauty isn't real, and this horrible life I have now, is the reality. Strange that it has all came about because of you, simply a dream; a figment of my imagination."

Christine wiped at her eyes and paused to stop her voice from choking. Erik watched, heartbreak evident in his eyes. He made to move closer to her, but Christine held up her hand to him.

"I want you to leave, and I don't ever want to see you again. I…I can't pretend anymore. I have to face this world. I want to be with Raoul." Erik stepped back, closing his eyes as tears rolled down his face. The silence held for a lifetime.

Erik broke it, by taking Christine's slight fingers in his hand and kissing each tip, and then the palm. Christine looked away, desperately trying to erase any emotion she had for the now transparent entity that was Erik. "I'll be close," he whispered, his lips still grazing her outstretched palm, "I'll be so close."

He carefully dropped her palm, and was suddenly not there anymore. Christine waited a moment, before swaying on her legs and dropping to the floor, crying into her dirty skirts. Behind her, looking through the little window in the padded door, stood two old men in white coats.

xXx

"She's clearly delusional," The taller stated, still looking at the weeping girl inside, "There's nothing for it."

"Yes," the smaller replied, straightening his coat while his face twitched into a little smirk, "The famous French soprano, who'd have thought it? You're completely right:

Miss Daae must undergo treatment immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

**Aloha lad, i know i haven't updated in a while, and i'm almost 100% sure you lovely lot aren't going to like this one. But as I say, it has to get worse before it gets better. Or maybe this is just a reflection of my already pretty dark imagination! I'm trying to naturally bring the story round to the nice bit i've planned out, but that's gonna take time, so, faithful readers, stick with me! I'll love you a little bit more if you do! =] xx**

* * *

"I swear to you, monsieurs, I am quite well. Please let me go now." Christine stood and stared at the two doctors firmly, her bedraggled and unkempt curls hanging down her back, which was rubbed raw from the rough wall she had lay against. The doctors suppressed smirks at each other, before one stood a tentative step towards her.

"Now, now, Miss Daee, I assure you that you will be well kept here. Just as your husband assures us you shall be no trouble. Now come along, some people are waiting for you." Christine held her ground for an elongated second, before her shoulders slumped.

"I shall come with you," she said clearly, "only to prove to you that I am completely sane, and it is unnecessary for you to waste time and effort on me." She stalked in front of the two doctor's, who both made a grab for her swinging arms. She pushed herself out of their grasps, and glared at them, before whipping around and striding down the corridor.

The doctors followed a little behind her, puffing and panting to keep up with her. As Christine turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, causing the men to stumble into her rigid body. Her eyes widened, and she backed away from the leering woman in the room before her. The needle in the woman's hand glinted menacingly in the light of the gas burners, and Christine gasped a little and turned to run, but was stopped by the two men hooking their arms through hers.

Christine screamed, and kicked out furiously, her now redundant feet dragging along the scuff marked white floors. She was pinned to the grimy bed as the large woman stood over her with the shining silver of the needle. "Relax, Miss Daee, this will not hurt if you just relax!"

"I am not insane, do you hear me? Let me go, I am fine, please! Let me go home!" The smaller man locked her arm in his hands as the needle fell into her skin. Suddenly everything was liquid, and Christine felt her eyes rolling around in her head. She hardly noticed the journey back to her room, as she desperately tried to make her mouth work.

The doctors left her in her cell as she stroked the floors and the walls, trying frantically to feel something, anything, in her lethargic, drugged state. She didn't even feel the tears rolling down her dirty cheeks.

* * *

Two months later, Christine was nothing. Electric shock treatment had finally bitten into her, and she was an empty shell. Her hair had been cut up to her ears, and her eyes were glassy and dark. Dark stains ran down her cheeks from the last time she had applied makeup; the day she had entered the asylum, and her face was stained with dirt and blood.

There were no pleas left in her, no black nights accompanied by her frustrated sobs, no mutterings of Raoul's name. Even the hate-filled thoughts of Erik had fled her now vacant mind. She lay there, not even bothering to check if her heart was still beating, which she used to do obsessively in the first month of captivity. Her voice had dried up, had died inside her throat, and the only sounds that came out of her were the rasping breaths that tore her insides up when she remembered that breathing was essential.

She should not have tried to jump out of the window. That was the turning point in her treatment.

She thought that if she managed to escape, she could have pleaded with Raoul, convinced him that she was sane. And if the jump killed her, well, it would not have been so bad either. But it had done neither. All it had done was broken her leg, and even more firmly planted the assumption that she was mentally unstable into the doctor's blinkered minds. She lay on her thin mattress, staring past the ceiling, past the roof, into the stars, when two doctor's came in, kneeling down to meet her eye level.

Christine noted that they did not have some sort of needle or medication in their hands, and she turned her head a tiny degree to acknowledge them.

"Christine, do you hear us? Make some sort of motion to show us. Come on now, dear, we know you can do it!" Their feigned encouragement burnt a roaring fire inside Christine, but as stated, her body was a shell, and the only movement she could make was two consecutive blinks and to run her tongue over her cracked, parched lips.

"Christine, we feel it is our obligation to inform you, that the Viscount de Chagny has remarried, and all inheritance owed to you has been revoked. We thought you might like to know, on the slight chance you are discharged from the hospital. It might be a good idea to think what you would do if you get out of here. It may consume a little time, if you wish to be optimistic."

The doctor's lingered a little longer in silence, to note if the withered young woman made any signs of recognition, but she did not. Her body remained motionless, with a single blink as proof of life.

The taller doctor groaned as he stood up from his crouch, cursing his old age and thinking on his retirement, while the taller sprang lightly to his feet, eager to be married to his sweetheart of three years in the summer.

As they left, they didn't notice the silent screams racking throughout the paralysed body, nor the pained sobs of a woman who had lost everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Another to keep you satisfied! Stressing because of my AS Levels, so really do need to concentrate on those at the moment. This will probably be the last for quite a while, but I haven't forgotten! My last exam's the tenth of June, so I'll get some done sometime after that! In a bit, lads!**

"Miss Daae?" A newer, kinder voice showed genuine concern for her from the brighter corners of her cell Christine kept away from. She twitched a little, unsure of what to make of this stranger. She kept her face to the wall, not daring to look at him, but something about him reminded her of something.

"Miss Daae, can you hear me?" She let a long silence build between them, to see if he would persist, but to no avail. He waited patiently for her to answer. "I can." She replied hoarsely, her voice cracking due to the absence of it for three and a half months.

She heard a sigh from behind her, and the rustling of clothes as the man ventured closer to her. She felt soft fingertips trace her back, only covered with a thin shift, and she jolted at the touch. "What have they done to you?" The stranger murmured, tracing the faded scars from the walls and the veins in her neck from the electrolysis.

Christine frowned, tempted to turn and face the man, but also scared to. "Christina, dear, would you turn and see this man?" The smirking, older voice of the head Doctor was heard from behind the man, and Christine quivered in fear, sinking further into the wall. "Christina? Do you-"

"Her name is Christine, Monsieur. If you desire to treat these patients successfully, then by God, man, at least learn their names!"

"Apologies, Monseigneur, I meant not to give offence, but why is she of concern to you? She merely suffers from delusions!"

"She is of concern to me, because she is a human being, sir, something I fear you would not understand! I will take her from here, if you please, tonight, for proper treatment."

"Sir, I cannot allow that. The man who sent her here is a generous benefactor of the Bedlam, and he asked for us to keep her here for at least eighteen months, and more if she is still…unwell."

"Damn you! Is there no other way that I can help her?"

"I'm afraid not, she is to stay here." The two men were distracted by the tiny shudders racking the body of the frail woman below them, as she overheard their conversation.

"You see man, she is capable of getting better, but she will not if she is to stay here!" The younger stranger said through gritted teeth.

"The Vicomte de Chagny's word is final, Monsieur."

"Ah! The Vicomte! Well then, I suppose his wealth changes everything!" The man laughed bitterly, before crouching back down to lay a warm hand on Christine's cheek. Christine heard him sigh before straightening up and turning towards the Doctor. "Very well, I will see you again, I will put myself in charge of her, and will do everything in my power to make her better, as you certainly haven't."

There was a silence, before someone left the room and closed the door behind them, leaving Christine alone with one the men. Thinking it was the Doctor; she turned slowly and tiredly towards him, and met someone else's face. She paled even more so at the sight of him, and leapt up onto unsteady feet, flinging herself to the opposite side of the cell.

"No," she breathed, shaking her head fiercely. "No, it can't be…Erik!" Erik's face frowned back at her, perfect, with no mask, black hair, green eyes, pale skin and full lips. He took a step towards her, and Christine flinched further into the wall. "Miss Daae, who is Erik?"

"Don't do this to me again, Erik, you swore to me you would never return, you are the reason I'm here!"

The man took another step towards her, and Christine flung out at him, catching his jaw with her weak fists. He stumbled back, rubbing his stubbled jaw, before sitting on the bed, palms out. "Christine, you must listen to me now," he said quietly, piercing Christine's brown eyes with his clear green ones, "I do not know who this Erik is. My name is Henry Foillet. I am a psychologist."

Christine looked him up and down, gaping in confusion and uncertainty. "But, but, you look like him! Your face, though, it isn't, it's not-"

"Christine, you must not upset yourself, I am a friend." Henry edged himself closer to the edge of the bed, and grasped Christine's shaking hands. "I have never heard of this Erik, I have never met you before. It is a coincidence, nothing more."

His eyes read sincerity, his manner submission, and his face concern. Christine relaxed her defensive pose, and allowed herself to be led back to the bed. Henry smoothed hr greasy curls away from her face without flinching at the gauntness of her cheeks, and rubbed her freezing cold, not appearing to notice the grime from her shift rubbing off onto his expensive coat.

"Henry." Christine said, as if testing out the name.

"Correct. And Christine." He replied. Christine smiled, and closed her eyes, not noticing the way Henry leaned in as he inhaled the air, and Christine's scent, as he comforted this seemingly new patient.


	7. Chapter 7

_Henry:_

'_Who _is _she?' _Henry paced his chambers incessantly for hours, thinking about the shadow of those once bright brown eyes, and the curls that used to be shiny and soft.

The gaunt woman he had seen in the cell at Bedlam was not what the Phantom had shown him. Why had he shown him that beautiful woman who had plagued his thoughts for months, turning him black and rotten inside out until he had had no choice but to rescue her from the Bedlam? And even then when he had had her in his grasp, the idiot Doctor had forbidden her safety!

Oh, what mortals corrupted this beautiful world, and it was only beautiful because Christine was in it. Oh, Christine, Christine!

And who was this Erik she had spoken so passionately of? Henry felt a twinge of jealousy and an automatic sense of loathing for the man.

"Do not worry, Foillet, he is not important to us any longer." Henry jumped at the masked presence in the shadows of the room.

"Monsieur le Phantom, forgive me, how did you know what I was thinking?"

"Pay it little importance, sir, it is not what I have come here to discuss." Henry let the matter lay for a while, pulling the creases out of his suit and straightening his tie.

"Phantom, why did she look so…so-"

"Do not speak of her in that state to me!" Henry tripped a little on the leg of the bed startled at the man's outburst.

The Phantom's face was red, and his mismatched eyes of green and grey watered a little, before he turned to smooth his hair and straighten his mask.

Henry longed to look on the face of his guide; he wished to see to what extent they looked like each other. But the Phantom had avoided his questions with dexterity, and never let him get close enough to wrench the white half-mask off his face.

"Monsieur le Phantom, once again I need you to forgive me, I am just so confused."

"Dear boy, of course I will offer my forgiveness. You are young and have no knowledge of these matters, and I realise I send you practically blindfolded by your confusion. I assure you, Foillet, it will become clear."

Henry nodded, his creased forehead still distorting his beautiful features. He grimaced as he was tortured with yet another vision of the beautiful, happy Christine, and her voice rang round in his head.

He shook his head to try and empty it of her, and the Phantom smirked. Henry's eyes flashed with anger, restrained only with his obedience towards the man. "Please, Phantom, how and why do you plague me with these painful visions of her? Please stop!"

"Why do I do it? Because I need you to love her as I do, and that is how she must be returned to me. And how? My dear child, Henry, I am inside your mind, as she is inside mine." The Phantom smiled, showing his white pointed teeth.

He stooped to examine the bottom shelf of Henry's bookshelf.

"Monsieur le Phantom?" Henry ventured.

"Hmmm?" He replied distractedly.

"Am I…am I mad?"

The Phantom looked up from the books, straight into Henry's eyes, sending a shiver down his spine.

"My dear boy, who can tell these days?"

And with that, he was one with the shadows, and had disappeared.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! I am so flipping excited with this story. I had a massive epiphany, and I am going to start hurrying this along. Bear with me, though, for now. And look out for little clues in the story, I'm gonna start dropping some in hither and thither :) Lovesies from Hannah xx**

**-PoTo-**

Christine flinched out of habit as Henry entered her cell, but after six months, her fear was hardly noticeable. She felt herself getting better, felt her flesh pad out and hide the bones that used to make her so gaunt.

When rewarded with a glimpse in a mirror, she was horrified at how dirty she was, but she noticed the colour in her cheeks had gone from ash to pink, and her eyes were a little brighter. All the doctor's noticed: Henry had brought her life.

She smiled warmly at her friend, and he sat down next to her, returning the smile and kissing her hand gallantly. Christine liked him all the more for that, as her hand was covered in dirt and her fingernails were practically black, but Henry didn't even shiver with disgust.

He'd been badgering the Doctor's to give her a bath, and had won. It was scheduled for the following week, and Christine was excited to be clean, and for the brief adventure out of her cell. "Bon matin, Christine, are you well?"

"Well, enough, Monsieur Foillet, merci. Yourself?"

"I am well, but Christine, you know to call me Henry. I thought you had come to look at me as a friend these past months."

"Oh, monsieur…Henry, I certainly have. But you have done so much for me, it is only fair I acknowledge you with nothing but respect."

"I do not need respect from you, Christine. Love will do." He smiled kindly at her, and she moved her eyes to the floor, and folded her hands in her lap.

It was true, Christine felt something more than respect and friendship for Henry, but she had resigned herself to the fact that they could never be together. While he had restored her to sanity, the sight of Erik's face had awoken more terrifying dreams in her, and the music still rang in her head from time to time. However, now she could ignore it; convince herself it was not real.

She longed to be free of her cell, and Henry had told her it was almost the time of her release. Of course, she longed to feel the breeze in her hair and to smell the lavender in gardens at the Opera House where she used to live, but there was a fraction of her mind that feared the outside, and feared to take her hand from the brick wall of her prison while she slept.

Can a person be too free? Christine felt that way when she thought about being released back into France. She looked at Henry, who had been staring at her patiently while she thought. She laughed in embarrassment as she realised she had drifted back into her mind while she had company.

"Henry, I must tell you the truth. I…I fear a little…I…"

"It's alright, Christine, you can tell me."

"I…a part of me fears outside Bedlam, Henry. I long to see outside, as you know, but it has been over a year since I was admitted. A year of memorising these four walls, telling myself night after night that this is my own little universe. Anything even a little bigger would upset me, I admit, but that much freedom, Henry, is enough to send me back into madness!"

Christine heard her voice raising, and she stopped before she began wailing. Henry had placed his hand over hers, resting in the stained, creased folds of her shift.

"Christine, my poor angel, I hate what they have done to you in this hell hole, but you need not fear the world. What you went through was awful, and I regret not knowing you so that I could put a stop to it. I promise you, the world is not like that. If you like, you may come to live with me and my…my brother." He spat the last of his words out as if they were a bitter poison on his tongue, and Christine looked at him incredulously.

"I take it you are not fond of your brother?"

"I…no."

"Why is that?"

Henry removed his hand from Christine's lap and shifted uncomfortably. "Please do not interrogate me, it is not something I like to discuss. It is an embarrassing subject. I tolerate him enough to live with him, and as he is my elder, he got the lion's share of my father's lands, and he generously gives me a pension, on the grounds that I live with him."

Christine nodded, knowing better than to continue the topic. "Anyway, Henry, that is such a generous offer, but since you have been visiting me, you have given me hope as to what I could do when I…I leave. I think I would like to return to the Opera House. True, that is where the madness began," she continued as Henry opened his mouth to protest, "but I was happiest there, and with your support, I don't think I would be in any danger of slipping back into my old ways."

Henry frowned for a moment, before his shoulders slumped in submission, and he nodded. "Wherever you would be happiest, Christine," he murmured, "I would be glad to take you." A moment of silence followed, before Christine tentatively leant forward to Henry, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Henry looked at her, shocked, then touched the spot where she had kissed with the tips of his fingertips. He breathed in deeply, and stroked the back of Christine's hand absent-mindedly. He shook himself, and stood. Christine stood with him, and he bowed low to her.

"Miss Daae, Christine, I shall see you soon."

Christine nodded, keeping her gaze low, scolding herself for her encouraging actions. Henry pulled his cloak closer to him, and swept out of the room, as Christine collapsed on the bed, feeling a little light-headed.

The music had manifested itself into a melody she could recall a little. Struggling to name the piece only chased the music away, and she gave it up for lost.


	9. Chapter 9

"Where for art thou, Brother?" Louis' voice rang out in a sing-song voice down the long corridors of the Foillet manor. Henry stiffened at his desk, setting down his pen and smoothing down his shirt collar. He didn't turn as he heard the large doors to his office creak open, and the presence of his brother was felt behind his back. "What are you doing, Henry? More work?"

"Is it any of your concern, Louis?"

"No, but seeing as I pay for every breath you take, I think it ought to be, don't you think?"

Henry sighed in defeat, turning to face his older brother. He had dark shoulder-length hair, and a handsome face that many ladies dreamed of inspecting closer. They kept away from Henry, his intense gaze and eerily handsomeness frightened many possible matches away.

"Anyway, Henry, I've suddenly realised that I don't care. I'm calling you because supper is ready, if you care for it." Louis reached for Henry's collar to yank it into place, deliberately catching part of Henry's hair in his grasp.

"Really, Louis, must you always be so childish?" Louis smirked and punched his brother on the arm.

"Really, Henry, must you be such a royal bore?" He mimicked Henry's tone of voice mockingly, then collapsed on the chaise longue by the desk.

"Really, brother, you must come to the Opera again with me, sometime. You haven't been in such a long time, and I can't stand going alone to these things! And anyway, you-"

"Excuse me, Monsieur, you have a visitor." The housekeeper bobbed her head in the doorway, keeping her gaze averted to the floor. She was fond of Louis, but like everyone else, she feared meeting his younger brother's eyes. It seemed the only person to even speak to Henry was Louis, and when he did it was only to better himself.

"Yes, Madame Gillian, and who might that be?"

"A Mademoiselle Crystal Genique, sir." Immediately, Louis' eyes glazed over, and he straightened his posture.

"Crystal, eh? Tell her I'll be down anon for supper."

"Mais, Monsieur, there is not enough food for three, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well, no matter, she can have Henry's. And don't worry, brother," Louis turned to his sibling, lust apparent in his blue irises, "I'll save you some food for later. I doubt we'll be eating for long." And with a rueful wink at his unfortunate brother, he swirled out of the door, Madame Gillian at his heels. Henry waited a moment, then slumped against his seat, rubbing his temples.

Of course, he would love to visit the Opera again, he hadn't been in so long. During his time with Christine, she had told him she used to be in the chorus at the Opera, and had once understudied for the great Carlotta. It saddened him that he had never heard Christine sing, but he would never dare to ask her. From what he could assemble from their conversations, it was the music that drove her mad, and he wouldn't ask her to relive that until she was ready.

Henry couldn't help himself. He felt himself falling more and more in love with Christine with each day. He knew it angered the Phantom, who's motives were still unknown to him, but with all the threat and power the spectre held, it was not enough to quench his desire for the young girl. He ached knowing that she had to be put through such grief, and her as sane as she is! Christine was excited at having her first bath in months, and Henry longed to see her looking a little like her old self, and how he longed to see her in her former glory for the first time.

He knew the Viscomte had good taste in women; his newest wife was a vision of beauty, to most, anyway. Seeing Christine daily, letting himself bask in her beauty and kindness, would only intensify when she regained her happiness. Henry admitted only to himself that he was put out that Christine declined his offer of hospitality, but at the same time he was relieved.

He was too afraid of Louis snatching her away if he ever met her. Louis was, shall we say, a collector of all things pretty, and he knew Louis would try to court his Christine if he gained a chance. The Phantom would hate Louis courting Christine even more than if Henry were to.

Henry shivered when he thought of the Phantom so close to Christine. Why was this eccentric spectre so desperate to release her from the asylum? Henry had no idea, but the fact of the matter was, the Phantom had led him to the angel, and he had that to thank him for.

"Of course you do, Foillet, you have everything to thank me for."

"I'm aware of that, Monsieur le Phantom." The Phantom circled Henry as if he was prey, striding tall with the moonlight glinting off his mask. He looked down at the desk, picking up a piece of paper with a rough sketch of a woman with brown ringlets in a wedding gown.

Henry heard a slow intake of breath from behind his shoulder, and he turned to see the masked man placing the paper in his pocket and rubbing at his cheek. Henry realised at once. He pushed up from the chair and met the man in the eyes.

"You love her." He said it as a statement rather than a question. The Phantom stared right back, a slight curling of his lips the only movement. "All this time, you wanted me to get her back for you, not for me!"

"And you are only realising this now?"

"If you are so obsessed with the girl, and so omnipotent, why don't you get her back yourself?"

"Do not forget who you address, boy!" The Phantom had gone from his usual sarcasm to outright rage at Henry's outburst. "You will continue with what you have set out to do. I care little for your feelings for Christine, but God be damned if you stray off course. Do not question me, you are here only to obey me. Is that clear?"

Henry quivered uncontrollably, before managing to nod his head once, up and down. His knee shook, and the masked ghost laughed.

"I knew I could count on you, Foillet. Not because of your loyalty, or your honour, but because of your fear. Your brother has all the spine in this lonely house. Ha! To think what you would be like if you did fail me!"

And with that, Henry was left alone with his whimpers and his condemned drawings.


	10. Chapter 10

A small bag was the only proof that Christine had of the asylum. It contained what she was wearing the day she came to the hospital, and her papers of release. A new dress Henry had generously bought her hung a little loosely over her frame, and the dirty shift she had lived in for fourteen months was taken away for incineration.

Henry held her hand tightly, guiding her gently out of the building as she trailed her free hand along the wall. She leant suddenly against the wall as the open door stood in sight, a doctor on each side of the exit. Henry stopped with her, and gazed intently at her. "It's alright, my Christine. You can do this. Remember what you said? How you longed to smell the flowers and feel the sunlight on your skin? It's spring now, Christine. Everything's alive and born again, as are you."

Christine returned his look, and she slowly pushed away from the brick, squeezing Henry's hand and looping her arm through his. She turned her stare towards the door, not daring to avert her eyes for fear of losing her nerve. She walked confidently towards the two doctors, keeping their heads down to avoid looking at the woman they had treated so cruelly.

She didn't even acknowledge her presence, as a step away from them, she felt the breeze play with her hair across her face. Goosebumps raised on her bare arms, and she closed her eyes to protect them from the high sun. She sighed in the fresh air, and listened for the silence that she thought she'd never hear after hearing the screams of the lunatics night after night.

A sob escaped from her lips before she had time to suppress it, and Henry cradled her a little as more and more tears fell from her eyes. "I've missed everything," she whispered, as Henry cried a little with her, "but you saved me. I can't ever repay you, Henry. You have saved my life in every way possible. Thank you."

An elaborate carriage took them first into the city to buy some clothes and other necessities for Christine, then to the Opera Populaire to enrol Christine back into the company. They were more than delighted to have her back after such a long time, and she was given a beautiful room to herself comparable to La Carlotta's, who was still the Prima Donna. As Christine began to unpack, Henry lingered nervously at the door. Christine turned when silence had passed for a while.

"Is everything OK, Henry?"

"Would you…maybe…perhaps you would say no but…"

"Just say it, Henry!"

"Alright! Dinner tonight? I could have something cooked for you, it could be at my home, but if you don't want to, if you're tired, or just don't want to, it's-"

"I'd love to Henry, would you have a carriage pick me up? I have no money, as is obvious." Christine smiled, delighted to be worthy enough for such a rich man's house and family.

"Of course, nothing but the best for you. I'm very happy you would like to come. I will leave you to unpack and catch up with your old friends. They're all lingering at the end of the corridor."

Many gasps were heard and shushing was heard at the end of the corridor, and Christine laughed, waving goodbye to Henry as he half skipped down the hall with joy on his and another's mind.

Christine waited at the entrance of the Opera House for a sight of Henry's carriage. She had dressed in an emerald dress with simple swishes of material stitched into the shape of the dress. Accompanied with a little silver jewellery she had and with her hair swept up onto the top of her head, leaving a few ringlets to trail along her collarbone, Christine had only to pull on her black velvet gloves before she was ready for her meal at the Foillet manor.

A large chariot pulled up, driven by four handsome horses, which were enough to leave the people walking along the street to stop in awe. Henry jumped eagerly out onto the floor and stopped, mesmerised by Christine's beauty. She blushed a little, bobbing a curtsey before stepping delicately down the stairs towards her companion.

Henry shook himself, before offering his arm for Christine to gain support as she ascended into the sat down opposite her, and she smiled sweetly at him, running her fingers along the leather of the seats.

"You look very beautiful, Christine." She looked down at her lap demurely, before whispering a thank you. The carriage ride continued in contented silence before they stopped at the mansion. It was then Christine's turn to gawp at the loveliness of the sight before her. The house was beautiful, a prefect chateau in the countryside just outside of Paris, ivy trailing down the high walls and rolling hills of green grass. The building was a sand colour, with a modern design and large wooden doors.

Christine felt a hand at her elbow as Henry guided her towards the door. "Your…your house is so wonderful!"

"It pales in comparison." Henry whispered in reply, smoothing a curl away from her face, which had caught on her long dark eyelashes. Christine blushed, smiling at her companion, before offering her tiny hand to be enveloped by his large one. They walked in side by side, as a waiter opened the door for them.

"This is Miss Daee, I trust, Monsieur Foillet? I shall alarm the chef that you have arrived."

"Oh no, will you wait a moment? I would like to show my guest the house."

"As you will, sir." The waiter bowed first to Henry, then lower and with more grandiose to Christine, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Henry led the way all through the maze of corridors and identical doors, eagerly telling his companion the histories and stories that belonged to the house. Christine made no sound, listening intently and inspecting the house behind him. She had never seen a house as big as this, living in the Opera all her life. It was a whole new world to her, and she wanted to explore every inch of it.

Henry swelled with pride at the look of excitement and wonder on his companion's face, but as they turned a corner, his heart dropped into his stomach.

"Henry! Bonsoir! Oh, and to you, mademoiselle, may I enquire as to your name?"

Henry's blood boiled as his charming brother planted a kiss on Christine's pale hand. She flushed red, and Henry's heart ached.

"Christine, sir, and you?"

"Louis, miss Christine, my name is Louis. I am Henry's older brother." Christine darted a surprised look at Henry, then withdrew her hand from Louis' grip. She pressed closer to Henry's side, and he touched her elbow lightly. Louis scrutinised Christine, and she smiled at him nervously, while Henry glared.

"Forgive me for staring, but not only are you so excruciatingly beautiful, your face seems known to me. Have I met you before?"

Henry jolted, unsure of how Christine would take this. Would she tell him about her time in the mental asylum, how it was impossible for him to have seen her before because she was locked away from the world? Christine frowned, then smiled serenely. "I must have one of those faces, monsieur, for I certainly have never seen you before!"

Louis stared at her unblinkingly, as if trying to remember, but he smiled suavely and took Christine's hand in his own, planting a long lasting kiss on her palm, never breaking eye contact with her, before turning to face his brother. "And Henry, a very goodnight to you. You have found yourself a very beautiful companion for the evening. Who'd have thought it?"

Louis smiled maliciously at his brother, before turning on his heel and striding down the corridor, leaving one with a dazed expression on her face, the other burning with anger. Henry immediately calmed after seeing Christine's beautiful orbs staring up at him, and he offered her his arm to descend down to dinner.


	11. Chapter 11

Henry hardly looked at the food he was placing in his mouth, his eyes taking in the sight of his love. His heart jumped at every tiny move she made, from the sweeping back of her hair over her shoulder, to the graceful patting of her lips with the napkin. Christine often looked up at him with her large, brown eyes, and smiled her delightful smile. When she smiled, Henry could scarcely notice anything else.

And yet he did.

He saw a dark figure in the doorway over Christine's shoulder, and his cutlery clattered onto his plate, shattering the comfortable silence. Christine's brow furrowed as Henry gaped above her. She turned, and saw nothing.

The Phantom gazed at Christine's body with such an intensity Henry thought his heart might break, and he had to force himself to smile and shake his head as if it was a mistake. Yet the Phantom stayed put, throughout the remainder of the meal, who now shared Henry's gaze with Christine.

"Henry, are you alright? You seem on edge."

"On edge, my dear? Not…not at all. Must be the wine or something."

"I feel fine."

Henry merely shrugged and continued eating, and yet he heard the Phantom's barely audible chuckling.

"Yes, my dear Henry, are you on edge? Why would you be, after all?" His laughing died away as he turned his eyes back onto Christine's fragile frame, and Henry winced as he stretched out his hand, tracing the outline of her hair.

The Phantom's intake of breath did nothing to sway her, and when she turned her head to look at the space behind, she saw, of course, nothing. Henry was baffled. How could she not see him? He met the ghost's eye, and he smiled triumphantly, unleashing a kitchen knife from his pocket.

He inhaled Christine's scent as he reached around her, placing the blade delicately against the ivory skin of her neck. Henry's heart jumped into his mouth, while she continued to eat, oblivious to the action around her. The Phantom kissed her temple lightly, and whispered; "Now you can join me again. I have missed you."

He slowly dragged the knife across her skin, and Henry screamed as he saw the first bead of life journey down her collarbone. He squeezed his eyes shut and flew from his chair towards the couple. "Henry!" Christine screamed in alarm and moved out of her seat before Henry could collide into her.

He opened his eyes, and saw only the wine emptying its contents onto the polished floors. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing, and felt a surge of relief as he felt Christine's tiny arms surround him. "I'm here, Henry, I'm here." She cooed, stroking his hair away from his sweaty forehead. She shook a little, as if remembering the horrors of her hallucination, but the brave girl kept silent, concerned only for the whimpering Henry.

Oh, God, the adoration of her resonated through him, and his hold on her tightened. Footsteps broke them apart, and Christine's nimble hands were replaced by the butler's weathered ones. "Sir, you are tired. I must get you to bed now. Miss Daae, I must insist you go back to the Opera house. I will arrange a carriage for you."

"Oh sir, you needn't worry with that. I'll see him to his bed, he saw something that frightened him, I shall-"

"Miss Daae, leave immediately. I shall take care of everything."

Henry looked about him in confusion, a whirl of mixed emotions turning about him, until his eyes came to rest on his brother's face, who was leaning on the doorframe. Louis was looking at him, an expression of utmost disgust and embarrassment apparent. Henry felt a mysterious guilt bubble up inside him, but couldn't place it.

He tried to find Christine through the crowd of cleaning, unsure maids and judging staff, but his butler had ushered her out. With a rage he would normally deem unnecessary, he demanded to see her, straightening with much dignity.

"Please, my Lord, your friend is already on the road. Let us see you to bed, and I will personally invite her back tomorrow night."

Henry glared at the man, and stormed up to his study. On arrival, he gasped at how he had acted. _The Phantom has a hold already. Good God._ He threw his papers to the ground with a scream of frustration, before turning on his heel and storming into his chambers.


	12. Chapter 12

Christine forced herself to concentrate in her first rehearsal back at the Opera House, but found herself drifting momentarily into concerned thoughts for Henry. Her voice was as good as it was before, and it felt a relief to finally sing. She had had worries about whether she was sound enough to sing, but as soon as it was her turn in the duet with a new tenor named Francois Cenarfique; she knew she could do it brilliantly.

The notes fell from her lips as if they had been ready to do so for months, and it allowed her to soar and fall into an ecstasy she forgot she could feel. She saw from the corner of her eyes Francois smile at her, his eyes lighting up at the famed sound of her voice he'd evidently been desperate to hear.

She was desperate to hear it herself, and was not disappointed. Her experiences had seemed to refine her voice, give it the passion and raw despair it was not acquainted with previously. The song lasted an eternity, before she finally clawed her way back to consciousness, and coincidentally finished at the correct place.

Francois took up his part, never taking his eyes of Christine, except to close them briefly while her voice entwined with his. Christine enjoyed immediately singing with him, their voices were in sync and matched well. At the end of the duet, the composer clapped for a moment, before calling the lead Alto for her aria.

"Bravo, Mademoiselle Daae," Francois placed a tentative hand on her arm and smiled warmly, "I have waited a long time to hear your voice and you certainly did not disappoint!"

"Merci, monsieur Cenarfique, I am glad. I enjoy singing with you immensely, and I am excited to start more work with you." She went to shake Francois' hand, who instead grasped it, turned it palm up and planted a light kiss in it.

"Miss Daae, I consider it a great honour that you would sing with me. I am new to this line of business, and have not yet had much experience. If you would have the time, and the inclination, I would ask if we could set up some private rehearsals, so I can improve as much as possible."

Taken aback by his forwardness, while admiring his determination, she smiled brightly and pulled out a sheet of paper and pen. "That sounds like a brilliant idea, Monsieur, and I am in no doubt of a lack of time. When would you be free in a week? Do you think Monsieur Ardent-"

"Monsieur Ardent?"

"The accompanist. Do you think he would be able to participate also?"

"As I say, Mademoiselle, I am new to the company, and do not know many people. If Monsieur…Ardent? Is that correct? If Monsieur Ardent is not able to make it, I have an excellent friend-"

"Christine!"

Christine turned her head in confusion to the sound of her name, and her eyes lit in relief as they fell onto to the animated figure of Henry. She turned back to Francois and patted his hand as if to say 'one moment' and clasped Henry's outstretched hands in her own. "Henry! I'm surprised you're here. Are you better?"

Henry's cheeks flared. He had half hoped she would not bring it up, but he knew he must straighten the matter out as soon as possible, or lose her altogether. "Oh, the issue last night? Yes, much better, thank you. I'm actually here to talk to you about that. May we…" At this point, Henry noticed the hovering man behind Christine. He couldn't help but see his subtle good looks and positive aura, and instantly hated him.

Christine followed his gaze over her shoulder, and smiled broadly, a broader smile than the one she gave for him. His insides boiled.

"Oh, beg my rudeness, Monsieur Cenarfique! This is my good friend, Henry Foillet. Henry, this is Monsieur Cenarfique, the lead tenor."

"Charmed, Monsieur Foillet, to meet you. You are quite the celebrity in Paris. You and your brother, Louis. And Christine, you must always call me Francois!"

"Of course, Francois, of course," Christine smiled warmly, and clasped his hand in her own, "Henry, you wished to speak to me?" Henry switched his steady gaze from the tenor to the soprano, and forced a smile. "Yes, Christine, I did. However, if you are immersed in a rehearsal-"

"Oh no, in fact I have finished for the time being. If you are free now, you can accompany me to my chamber?"

Henry nodded eagerly, offering his arm to her. Christine took it, turning back to Francois and offered him a little wave. He replied with an ornate bow at the waist, and Christine giggled lightly. Henry felt his cheeks burn and doubled the speed of his stride, dragging the bewildered girl behind her.

Leading her through the twisting pathways and corridors of the Opera, he blocked out the fleeting images of the Phantom leaning on the walls, leering in the alcoves, pacing through doorways. At last they found their way to Christine's apartments, and he ushered her in, closing the door tightly behind him. Henry turned round to face her expression, creased into a half concerned, half angered frown.

"What was that, Henry?"

"What?"

"What? Dragging me round like a rag doll, trailing me away so rudely from a friend! It has taken me months to get my life back together, and true, you have been there thick and thin, but I need other friends here. Do you not agree?"

Henry paused a little while he decided on an answer. How selfish could he actually be, considering that he was the only one she needed in her life? Christine noticed this, and her nostrils flared, her cheeks flushing blood red.

"You do not agree Henry? After all that has happened, you do not want me to move on?"

"I did not say that-"

"No, you did not need to! Henry, I appreciate everything, _everything,_ you've done for me. I have never had a better friend and companion. But you are doing exactly what Erik did to me, and I cannot go back to that!"

"Of course, Christine, and I'm not-"

"The way you spoke, and looked at that man, with such hatred, such undeserved hatred! It begs belief! Francois is a nice man, who I admire for his commitment and talent, but even if I found more of a friend in him than I could have imagined, who are you to forbid me? Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"But I didn't-"

"No, you didn't, because I will not give you that chance. I will not give anyone that chance ever again! Now leave me!"

"Christine, I need to explain last night-"

"Leave me I said! I can't look at you right now. You need to realise that I exist separately from you! Please, just go!"

At this, she swung round and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Henry stood for quite some time, mouthing silent confusion at a closed door. He sighed deeply, and quietly tread out the room, closing the door on his love.

"What did I tell you, monsieur? I knew it would not take long."

"Please, Phantom, whatever you are, leave me and Christine alone!"

The Phantom stepped out of the shadows, following Henry closely down the corridor, whispering treacherous thoughts into his ear.

"That tenor, who is he? She has not known him five minutes, and already he has become a problem. We need to eradicate the problem-"

"We do not need to do anything!" Henry turned to face the masked man, enraged. "You need to leave me! I am stronger than you!"

The Phantom laughed loud and long, slapping his thigh and leaning in mock friendship on Henry's shoulder. "Oh, Monsieur Foillet, I seriously beg to differ! Who led you to Christine, hmm? Who helped you gain her trust? Who gave you the opportunity to love her as you do? As I-" At this, the Phantom stalled, and stepped away, touching his fingers briefly to his mask. His wistfulness did not last long, and he bored into Henry's eyes with his black ones. "You let this man come into Christine's life, and he will ruin you. You need to end their relationship. Now."

"Christine does not want me meddling in her life. As she should!"

"Christine has no idea what she wants. She has only recently recovered; you cannot trust her with things like this. You are the only person who can protect her."

Henry felt a surge of bravery, and he met the Phantom's eye. "Why do you not do it?"

He instantly regretted his surge of defiance, for the Phantom's hand darted out form the folds of his cloak, grasping his neck and lifting him into the air. His face came close to Henry's own, and he laughed softly, his hot breath sticking to Henry's unshaven beard. "Careful, monsieur. You do not want to cross me, as I have proven. Last night will become more of a frequency. But you know as well as I do, Monsieur Cenarfique is a problem, and he must be taken care of. Am I right to have faith in you?"

Henry gasped in breath, feeling his entire body slump in submission. "Yes, Monsieur Phantome, I will see to it."


	13. Chapter 13

**Herroooo friends, sorry I haven't updated in absolutely ages, but I'm in the midst of study leave for my A levels, and haven't had the time or the inspiration. The only reason I'm updating today is because I'm ill and thought it was only fair I didn't revise today!**

Christine was glad Henry did not visit for the next few days, though she missed him. She was glad her words hit home, and he did respect her wishes. Their separation had been healthy for her; she had made more friends within the cast and crew of the Opera, and her voice was becoming clearer with each rehearsal with Francois.

Francois was a good man, perhaps even a great man. He was not afraid to tell her the few mistakes she made, and give her honest, positive feedback. He laughed long and loud, and his eyes sparkled with vivacity for life that she had not seen in a long time. She couldn't help comparing them with Henry's deep, sad eyes, and the eyes of Erik.

That was another thing she could not help doing: Obsessing over the connection between Henry and Erik. Was it a coincidence? Was it something her mad, twisted thoughts conjured up a long time ago? Or was it something stranger, more…real?

No. She refused to think of it as that. To believe he was real was to bring him back from the dead, and she would not do that to anyone, not to herself, not to Henry. She owed it to him to stay sane, and she had a debt with Henry that she could never fully repay. She decided this sitting alone in her chambers, and with her decision came her pen and paper.

"Monsieur, will you please take this to the House of Henry Foillet, if you'd be so kind?"

"Certainly, Mademoiselle, I will deliver it personally." The man grabbed the coins form her hand with much more enthusiasm than he showed taking the letter, but walked briskly down the road towards the Foillet Chateau.

"Is Monsieur Foillet at home, Madame? Only I have a letter to deliver to him-"

"I am Monsieur Foillet, boy, hand me the letter." Louis strode towards the door confidently, forcing Madame Gillian away from the doorframe and the messenger.

The messenger looked him up and down, scrutinising him. "You are Henry Foillet?"

"I-" Louis opened his mouth to decline, before thinking better of it. "Yes, I am Henry Foillet, do you need proof? I live in this house, for God's sake!"

The messenger glared at him unabashedly, then handed him the letter, leaving his other hand outstretched in readiness. Louis sighed, but handed over a small coin. The messenger looked in disgust at it, and shrugged, turning on his heel back towards the city.

Louis finally looked at the letter, noticing the curling, feminine cursive, and continued to feel all the more intrigued. He ripped open the envelope without care, unfolding the delicate paper and noticing the signature of a Christine Daae at the end. He smiled triumphantly, reading from the beginning:

_Dear Henry,_

_I believe I spoke wickedly to you, and I am ashamed for it. You have been looking out for me, and I know I can never repay you for the life you have given me. These past three days have been happy ones, for I have met many new and exciting people, and my voice has gone from strength to strength with help from Francois and the accompanist, Monsieur Ardent._

_Yet, despite all that, it has been tinged with sadness. That sadness has stemmed from the fact that you have not been there to share in my triumph over my illness. I have said it time and time again that you are the sole reason I can delight in these little joys of life, away from the asylum, but on this occasion I seem to have forgotten it. I promise I will not do so ever again. You mean everything to me, and we both can never forget that._

_It is my greatest wish I can see you, and we can properly speak to one another. If this letter finds you in good time, I am free this evening, and I would love to meet you at seven o'clock at Chez Marc's._

_Yours,  
Christine Daae._

Louis frowned, reread the letter, and scratched his head. He looked up the stairs, as if expecting Henry to be there, watching him, then decided to go and see his little brother.

"Good afternoon, young brother. How are you?" Louis began speaking before he opened the door to his brother's study, then wished he had stayed outside. Just as Henry yelled "Don't come in!" he stepped inside, seeing the hundreds of drawings stuck to the walls.

Some were just average stalker doodlings: Christine in the study, Christine singing, Christine painting, but others were a little more sinister. Christine asleep, with a masked figure standing over her, his shadow cast upon her face. Again, a picture of Christine combing her hair, not noticing the same masked man with his hand on her shoulder made Louis shudder.

Louis continued to look as Henry tried desperately to rip them all from the walls, but he could not help one sheet falling to his brother's feet. He picked it up before Henry could snatch it away. This paper had writing on it, rather than drawings, and a name.

Francois Cenarfique, followed by an address, then the phrase "She is the Phantom's" repeated over and over until there was no space left.

Louis looked at his brother, hiding the disgust, while Henry looked back weakly.

"Henry," Louis began, "What is this-?"

"It is nothing you should concern yourself with, Louis. It is…it is just a little joke, that's all. What did you come to talk to me about?"

"Henry, this is not a joke-"

"I realise that!" Henry roared, taking his brother aback with his blazing eyes and clenched fists. "Just, do not get in my way."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Louis with the demonic writing, contrasting with Christine's own hand. He did not tell Henry about her letter. Louis decided that this time, he would be the bigger man, and warn the girl about Henry's obsession. He checked the letter again; Chez Marc's at seven. He dressed accordingly.


	14. Chapter 14

Louis spied the young girl through the window of the restaurant. She was twisting a napkin through her tiny hands in anticipation, and checking the clock, to the window, then back to the severely creased napkin. Louis too, looked at the clock, realising he was a little late. He hastened towards the table, Christine not seeing him until he was merely two feet away from her.

Her eyes sparkled confusion, before standing to accept his hand. "Monsieur Foillet, what a surprise! I thought you were your brother for a moment. Silly, really, you look nothing alike. Are you meeting someone here?"

Louis smiled nervously as he straightened his bowtie, unsure of how to proceed. Christine noticed his hesitation, and her eyes creased a little in concern.

"Christine," Louis began, waving for her to sit down as he took a seat opposite her, "Henry won't be coming tonight. I-I intercepted his letter."

To his surprise, Christine did not shout or interrupt him. The only movement she made was a narrowing of the eyes to show her bewilderment, and a tiny motion of her tongue to lick at her lips.

"I don't want you to get upset, it's just that I, well, I have been worried for several months now. Henry has developed feelings of a strange nature towards you, and I think it might be best that you perhaps stay away from him for a while, at least until he stops feeling this way for you. Do you understand?"

Christine looked at her lap for a while, before making eye contact with Louis. "If you read my letter, I take it you know about my time in the mental hospital?"

Louis opened his mouth to reply, but the look on Christine's face, so heartbroken, so conflicted, forced him to remain silent.

"You'll also know that Henry got me out of there, one day at a time. He was so very caring, so patient, and he asked for nothing in return. I suspected he had developed feelings for me, but so what? Perhaps I have feelings for him! But all of that doesn't matter, because I am forever in debt to him. He saved my life. Can you understand that?"

"Christine, I understand completely. Henry has said nothing of this to me, and if he had, perhaps I would understand his erratic behaviour. But, Christine, he has been behaving so strangely. I know I shouldn't tell you this, but a few years ago-"

"Christine?"

Christine looked up, eyes wide, but Louis did not have to. He knew instantly who the voice belonged to.

"R-Raoul?"

Raoul's mouth was agape, staring at the woman Louis knew to be his ex-wife. Tied onto his arm was the new Viscomtess, who was glaring at Christine both jealously and triumphantly, clutching onto Raoul's bicep with gloved hands.

"Oh Raoul, darling, is this the ex-wife that was commited? My God, I could recognise that a mile off!"

Raoul didn't hear her in his stupor, but Louis did. He did not care that much for Christine, but the emotion and maturity she had displayed in their brief conversation had won her over for him. He turned in his chair glaring at the woman.

"Madame, do me the honour of not talking to my partner for the night, especially in your vulgar ways."

This finally snapped Raoul out of his trance, and he looked down at Louis seated in front of him. His face went through a gruesome metamorphosis, as he realised who it was his ex wife was seated with.

"You!" Raoul, grasped Louis' collar and swung him out of his chair. Louis blocked a punch from the Viscount, and attempted to shove him away. A small scream from Christine was almost lost underneath the new Viscomtess' bellows, and tiny hands were felt on Louis' arm as she attempted to pull him away.

Raoul lunged again at him, almost knocking the girl off her feet, and it took several waiters to prize the two apart.

"Stay away from Christine, Foillet! You and your vicious, insane brother! Just stay away from her, do you understand me? Christine, Christine, just stay away from them! You will end up back in that asylum! Get off me! Unhand me! Christine!" Raoul was led out of the restaurant, with his wife sobbing after them.

Louis straightened his suit, blotting his bloody lip with a handkerchief, observing Christine's white face.

"Christine-"

"What did he mean; 'stay away from them'? Why? Why should I?"

"I am unsure, Christine, really. I admit I have had bad dealings with him, due to my brother, but I thought that was in the past."

"Bad dealings? What do you mean?"

"There was an incident concerning the Opera House a long time ago, it shouldn't worry you. Henry is past that now."

"The Opera House? I live at the Opera House. I should like to know, as Henry visits me there."

"Why do you live at the Opera House?" Louis scrutinised her face, distantly recalling a comment made by him a few weeks previous. _You look very familiar, Christine…_

"I am a soprano there. Louis, what is the matter? You look pale."

Louis placed an unsteady hand on Christine's shoulder to support himself, the colour draining from his face. Everything came back to him; it was as if he'd try to block the whole thing from his mind, as he had done from the newspapers; his brother's shameful fall from grace.

He remembered everything.

"Christine, we must leave. Now. I remember everything. You are no longer safe."

Henry returned quietly home without disturbing any of the other residents, the Phantom striding easily beside him. He tried desperately not to look at the spectre; he was too ashamed.

Henry closed the door to his study and took the sullied gloves from his hands, the Phantom doing so at the same time with his own bloodied hands. Henry went to take a clean shirt from his drawers, and discovered he had none.

"No matter," The Phantom drawled from over his shoulder, "You'll just have to stay in that dirty one."

Henry looked down at the smeared tenor's blood on his shirt, and began sobbing, running his fingers through his prematurely greying hair viciously.

He heard the Phantom sigh behind him, before he felt his rough hands on his back, pushing him to standing.

"Silence! You, Foillet, are weak. If only I had picked on your brother, the stronger one of the two, I wouldn't have to be forced to mind this whining child!"

Henry did not heed him, only turned away and out of the door, along the corridor to his brother's room. Opening the door, he compared Louis' pristine room to his dilapidated one, and stifled another sob. Pulling a shirt from his brother's wardrobe, he turned to leave, until he noticed something on the desk:

_I am free this evening, and I would love to meet you at seven o'clock at Chez Marc's._

_Yours,  
Christine Daae._

Henry stood mutely, dumbly, reading the words over and over. He did not stop until he heard the Phantom's ragged breathing behind him.

"Do you see? Do you _see?_ The stronger brother is trying to take her away from us again! They're there right now, and what are we going to do about it?"

Henry stood, not reacting on the exterior. Inside, he could feel his insides boiling, and his temples throbbing. He pictured the two of them together, his brother seducing the woman he loved, the woman he loved seducing him. The harlot!

Henry let out a long, loud scream of anger, and suddenly, there was no Phantom. It was just Henry, alone, as it had always been. He wrenched open the wardrobe and scrambled around until he found his brother's secret chest. Prizing it open, he found what he was looking for.

The pearly white half-mask stared back up at him, and he fingered it fondly, before placing it over his face. Turning out of the door, he ran into the Butler, who looked at him in surprise, then mortification.

"No, sir, please, we had passed this! For God's sake, Henry, you are too weak to go back to all this! Do not put us through this again!"

The Phantom looked at the old man, cocking his head quizzically, sinisterly, before charging at the man, holding him over the balcony.

"I am no longer Henry, I am the Phantom. And I am not weak!"

With that, he let go of the life hanging to his fingertips, watching it tumble down the stairs, hitting banisters on it's way down.

The Phantom did not flinch.

His thoughts turned back to his whore, his possession, and his insides turned again. He walked down the steps, past the body, and out into the night.


	15. Chapter 15

"Christine, I think you should know the truth about Henry. It has been a very tightly contained embarrassment to myself and my household for a long time, but you're integral to our story, and you should know."

Louis gripped Christine's arm tightly, pulling her with haste through the cobbled streets of Paris towards the Opera House. Christine's stomach dripped with fear and bewilderment at Louis' secret terror, and she followed him as quickly as she could.

"Henry and I used to attend the Opera regularly. We were friends then, not just brothers. But we went to see a performance of Faustus, and…and it was you who was understudying the role of Marguerite. The whole audience, of course, found you sublime, but Henry especially took an interest in you."

Louis chanced a look behind them, as if expecting them to be followed, and Christine's heart throbbed in her mouth.

"He began sending flowers, writing letters, waiting outside the Opera for you to leave, just to catch a glimpse. I didn't want to see him like that, so I am ashamed to say I did not do anything. I even forgot your face, just so I didn't have to face his embarrassing state."

Christine stopped dead, Louis casting another look over the quiet street, silently urging her to continue, but she didn't. She could remember it; all the memories she had blocked out came out: The letters written in his own blood, the drawings, the red roses, and…the melody.

She heard the faint voices inside her head, singing the tune he had composed for her. Thinking it was a devoted fan, she had nodded her head in acknowledgement and continued on her way, but she remembered Henry's delighted face looking at her, waiting for her approval.

Christine let out a wail of morbid realisation, and Louis comforted her a little agitatedly. He gently pulled her along again, whispering encouragement, while she cried in terror again, remembering the threatening letters, asking her to meet him, the disgusting drawings of her working in a whorehouse as she continued ignoring his letters…

...and the beautiful wedding ring he had sent her.

"Louis, why could I not remember this? I don't understand!" She stopped again, pleading with Louis to answer her questions. His eyes glistened with fear of his brother.

"Worse things happened after time went on. The threats started coming to your fiancé, The Viscount, and I daresay you blocked it all out. You were in the asylum, weren't you? Was that the reason? I remember someone telling me that his wife had suffered a mental breakdown, and I cannot believe I have only recently realised that that was you. Had I known, Christine, I swear to you-"

His sentence was cut off by a woman's scream from further away, and Louis turned, running towards the sound without hesitation. Christine, fearing solitude, followed as more screams joined the woman's. Before Christine could see, Louis blocked her vision, cradling her head. "Please, Christine, don't look."

Christine shook out of his grasp and raised her eyes to the sight in front of her. The body of Francois Cenarfique swung gently on a rope from a lamppost. A few men were scrambling up to try and cut the body loose before anyone else saw, but it was proving difficult for them.

Christine sobbed with realisation, as she saw the blood drip from the body's boots, and the smears of blood on a pearly white mask, placed haphazardly over the corpse's face.

It had fallen slightly, and Christine could see her friend's glazed eyes looking at her accusingly. She wailed in terror, and Louis grabbed her hand, pulling her along quickly, away from the scene.

"We need to get somewhere safe, Christine. There's no way to know where he is."

"I want to go home, Louis! Just take me home to grieve."

"He will expect you to be there! I will book you a room in a tavern close by. We'll give you a false name, perhaps a wig. He wouldn't recognise you if you were just passing by. Oh God, there's no telling where he could be! Henry! What have you done?"

Christine rubbed Louis' back kindly as she realised he was hurting too.

"Louis, it's alright. Perhaps we can find him before he finds us, and find help for him."

"No, Christine, there is no help for him. He is a monster. All that pressure, all that weakness and self-loathing, of being the younger brother, it got to him. He saw you as a possession, something of his own, and it drove him mad. He even wears a mask to hide his own faults, he said; his own disgusting, ugly faults. And I ignored that, to save face. This is my fault, my burden."

Christine silenced her own tears: It was Louis' turn to grieve for his brother.

"How touching."

Christine screamed and turned at the sound, while Louis sprang to stand in front of her protectively.

Henry stood there, in an immaculate dinner suit, a white mask covering a half of his face. Christine noticed blood dripping from underneath it.

"Louis, I'll have to take that from you, I'm afraid. Thank you for looking after it, but it's mine now, and I won't lose sight of it again."

Louis put out his palm towards his brother in a calming way, trying to catch his eye. Christine looked at her friend, desperately, opening her mouth to plead with him.

"Henry, listen to me-"

"NO. SHUT UP. You stupid little whore! See what you made me do! Feast your eyes on the true Phantom!"

With that, Henry lifted his mask, making Christine blanche and Louis cry out in horror.

He had taken a knife to his own face, gouging bits of flesh from his cheek, his forehead, his scalp. The corner of his lip was ripped an inch into his cheek, and the eye socket was bruised and slightly caved in. Hair was missing from his head, and he cried blood.

Henry laughed loudly at the pair's reaction, and advanced on them, pulling the mask down into place as he moved. Louis backed up into Christine, flashing a warning glance at his brother.

"Henry, please, stop this. We can get help for you, you just need to come with us, and we'll help you."

"Oh, Louis, enough. There is no help for me in any other form than Christine. You need to stand aside, and it will be so much easier for everyone. You don't want to end up like the tenor, do you?"

Henry laughed again, and Christine moaned quietly. Louis did not even twitch, only held his stance firmly. Henry sighed, and pulled a bloodied knife from his cloak, making Christine gasp.

He advanced faster on the pair, knife poised and aimed at Louis. He did not stop until it was cutting into his jacket, when Christine screamed for him to stop.

"Henry! Please, this is your brother! I'll go with you! For God's sake, I'll go with you, just don't kill him!"

"No!" Louis shouted out in protest and moved towards his brother, before Henry elbowed Louis' head harshly and heavily, sending him flying to the ground, unconscious.

His gaze turned to Christine, and she began to run, screaming in fear. It did not take long for him to take hold of her waist and hoist her over his shoulder. He pressed his thumb into her temple with a crushing force, until she too fell unconscious.

He caressed her lovingly, moving his hand over her curves, before darting into the night with his prize.


	16. Chapter 16

Christine awoke, her head pounding and spiralling into the bewildering dimness. She made to move, but found her head tried to wrench itself apart were she to even move a single limb. So she lay in the damp darkness until her eyes adjusted and focused in on shapes and shades.

Heavy seeming dark boxes loomed in the near distance, and she slowly twitched her fingertips to explore the surface she was lying on. It seemed like a stone platform a little longer than her body, raised around a foot higher than the floor of the gloom. Testing her courage, she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position, blocking the blinding pain beating out a rhythm in her skull.

A rustle of material suggested a mass of lace and silk bound her body, and cold stone under her feet told her she was barefoot. She kept her hand anchored tightly to the slab while she turned her head this way and that, searching for familiar objects. Shapes flooded her memory, but held no lasting importance to her.

How had she got here? Her breath came in panicked pants, and her entire body trembled. Christine couldn't help the tiny moans and squeaks of terror erupting from her throat, but they did not block out the melody that started to creep into her head. She clutched the sides of her face and repeated a mantra over and over to keep the angels at bay.

Christine finally made out the shapes around her, realising that her whereabouts was a crypt. Henry's deeds came rushing back to her, and she flopped hopelessly onto the platform, her eyes dead and dry. Her breath stilled and her chest stopped heaving. She did not stir even when a voice from the shadows boomed around her.

"I came here to think of you, Christine. It is a happy moment to see you here, in this, your most holy space.

"I have so wanted you to love me as I love you. And I think you could, you know, were there no…distractions. I listened to your thoughts; the thoughts you shared with that most repulsive Henry, and I know I made an impression. I have haunted you, as you have haunted me. And as you listen to me now, I know you can begin to see my sense, and understand my love. We can be together. We can love in peace!"

Christine managed to make out his crouched shape in her peripheral vision, and in his excitement he had scuttled to her side, pulling the heavy dress to his face and burying inside it. Christine made no motion to move, only lay there, keeping her breath measured.

She heard Henry's manic, yet subdued laughter muffled through the many layers of fabric around his mouth. He pulled away, only to cup her cheek with his heavy palm. He leaned in to kiss her, and only then did she pull away, her eyes burning with mortified disgust. Henry hesitated, before launching himself away from her, howling and pulling at his scalp and hair.

The mask slid from his face, the clatter lost in his screams, and he looked like a man possessed. Only now did Christine flinch and roll onto the floor, leaving the slab between them.

"You can't understand, can you? All my life, no one has understood!" He yelped again, yet made to calm himself, smoothing his hair and lapels down.

"Were you just to have left that tenor alone, we could have been together, you would have understood. Things can never be right for us when there are people in the way! Which is why we must stay here, in these catacombs. Forever. You will get used to them, Christine. I know it. Our minds are alike, and I know you will come to treasure the unlikely beauty of the dead, and we can be happy here."

This time he did not move to her, only held out his hands in a praying gesture, his eyes wet and big, almost helpless. Christine replied with nothing but a look of icy steel.

"Are you quite finished?" Christine surprised herself with the steadiness of her own voice, and she decided to continue, standing to her full height and baring down on him in what she hoped was an intimidating stance:

"Is this self-gratifying monologue at an end now, Henry? Are you quite content with finishing all this nonsense about how no one understands you, and we are the only ones worthy of this life?"

"You know I can never be content, Christine-"

"No I don't! I do not know you at all! I will not go into the details of what you have done to ruin my life, for fear of seeming as self-centered and selfish as you. I am not. And I will never be. You seek to own me. I know why. You think that owning me gives you purpose in this world, perhaps. Or provides you with constancy. Whatever the reason, I will never be your object. How dare you presume that I would just, just lie down and take it? Like some sort of animal! I am my own woman, Henry, and if you think I will willingly stay here with you in this hell, then you are dreaming.

"But, I am not so hard-hearted that I ignore a man I care for's suffering. You have lived cruelly, and it is often not your own doing, but other's failings, myself included."

"You have never failed me!"

"I am speaking! Were you to set me free, you would be setting yourself free; the part of you that 'loves' me is the part where this darkness dwells. And if you decide that having me beside you rather than beneath you is better than nothing, then I will do all I can to help you. Does…does that sound amiable?"

Christine felt herself shaking a little as her outpour of emotions left her dry and fragile, though she fought to keep it under wraps. The melody had not vanished, but was silent, as if on a tense pause, waiting for a verdict to display itself in the symphony that was Henry's song.

Henry himself remained still, his tear-stained face locked on her fierce one. To Christine, he looked no more like a spoilt child; pathetic and disgusting. But she knew he was much more than that when pushed, so she did nothing to upset him further. Henry sobbed loudly and fell to his knees, crawling to her side and kissing the hem of her skirts and wrapping his strong arms around her calves.

She concentrated on keeping her balance, inconspicuously placing a hand on the stonewalls to steady herself, feeling the damp of the underground underneath her fingertips. She did not smile, though she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders as she accepted her success and Henry's defeat.

He reluctantly eased himself away from her, wiping his face on the back of his hand and standing to his towering height.

"If you stay with me," he began, trembling and sniffing, his eyes averted, "and…and help me, I will take you back."

Christine, as if they were polar opposites, reluctantly placed a hand on his cheek, sending an obvious shiver through Henry's body.

"I will stay with you, and help you. I promise you."

*************************************************** SSIMH ****************************************************************

Henry led the way, Christine desperately measuring her footsteps behind him, not wanting to seem to eager. She knew each step was a baby-step, and still crucially fragile. When would the Erik inside Henry decide against their agreement? It wasn't until she saw a glint of moonlight through a doorway did she quicken her pace.

If she got close enough, perhaps she could strike out at Henry and run, should he think again. A sigh of relief barely formed on her lips as Henry reached the last stair, before the doorway widened and bloodthirsty cries of armed men barricaded their way. At the head of the mob was Louis, his face bruised and bloody, yet still with a manic determination.

He saw the two of them, Henry and Christine, and let an angry scream, raising his pistol at Henry. Christine screamed a desperate "No!", but it was too late. Henry turned to her, a sad little smile on his face.

"Didn't I warn you, Christine? Others complicate it."

And with that, a flicker of fire appeared before Christine's eyes, and was attached to a long line, leading to barrels surrounding the entrance. Christine realised before Louis did, and she yelled in fear, running back into the catacombs.

The pistol was fired, and a terrible heat purged her skin.


	17. Chapter 17Final Chapter

Crumpled at the foot of the long, stone stairs, Christine found herself once again opening her eyes to a cruel sight. The skin on her back was blistering, and as she pulled herself from the floor, she bit into her lip to keep herself from screaming as the skin ripped where it stuck to the rough floor.

She gingerly scraped away the singed material draping her body, leaving herself shivering in a loose shift. Peering back up the steps, glowing embers lit up the stairs like grisly tea lights, making apparent the bloodstains and bits of seared flesh decorating the gloom. She feared for whom it belonged to.

Turning to face her new prison, after realising the structure at the top had caved in, Christine kept her breathing light and silent. Who else had escaped, if any? And a more pressing matter, perhaps, was an escape route. She felt no panic in her anymore; it had moved aside for brutal determination.

Twice in her life, someone she had loved had betrayed Christine. Yet she felt no self-pity; no yearning to depend upon someone. The dawning of her solitude had hit her not with horror, but had brought her strength. Her jaw set, and her back straightened, and she set out into the darkness to conduct a reconnaissance mission. She had only gone as far as five feet when she heard a tiny groan echoing through the chamber behind her.

The groan turned into a loud and long scream of pain, and she turned back, darting to the body barely visible under the rubble. Christine managed to escape much damage in the blast, and she thanked her remaining strength for holding out as she pulled the heavy bricks from the man lying underneath, still moaning and whimpering. As the last brick was wrenched away, Christine could barely recognise Louis beneath the blood purpling bruises swelling his face.

Louis let out cries mingled with relief and pain at the sight of Christine. She shushed him, ripping a piece of linen away from the wedding dress to mop his face. He hissed and tried to jerk away, but his legs were twisted in all the wrong directions, and she looked around desperately for something she could use to transport him. She opted for gingerly pulling him towards the platform she herself had lay on, searching him swiftly for wounds and binding them tightly.

She bent close to him as he sobbed in agony. "Shh, Louis, please, shh. I know it hurts, I do, and I'll come back for you as soon as possible-"

"Y-you won't…leave me?" Louis spluttered between ragged gasps, his lips and cheeks stained deepest red.

"I don't want to, Louis, believe me. But if we are to find a way out of here, I need to go and search the crypt. I will be back before you know it, I promise."

Louis let out more moans that were designed to keep Christine near, but she pulled out of his feeble grasp and vanished into the darkness.

-SSIMH-SSIMH-SSIMH-SSIMH-

The pain was unbearable, yet he could do nothing to prevent it. Louis watched the last of his hope disappear with Christine's retreating form, and his tears cleaned long trails of blood from his face.

Alone in the dying fires of the blast he had time to reflect on his past deeds. Everything that had happened, everything that had occurred to Christine, Henry, and the tenor, Cenarfique, was of his own doing. If he hadn't been so proud, so blinded by reputation, Christine would still be with Raoul, and the two brothers would be inseparable. Perhaps this was his fate, then: To die alone in this crypt, moaning in agony with the screams unanswered.

No. That would be too much of a tragedy. Not for him; his suffering was truly deserved, but for Christine. Lost and alone in the tomb, he feared desperately for the young girl he had come to love so much. This most beloved sister of his would not be left to fend for herself, he would make sure of that.

Louis' groans turned to shouts of frustration as he tried desperately to move his legs. He thanked God that his neck was not broken, and one arm seemed to only be slightly hurt, the other broken and twisted crudely back on itself. He could not lift himself high enough to view the damage on his legs, but from the amount of pain radiating from them, he judged that they were not a pleasant sight to behold.

Angry, anxious and helpless, he twisted his head as far as he could to see if there was anything he could do. It wasn't until a good few minutes had passed that he felt a strange lump underneath him, draped in the folds of his jacket. With his good arm, Louis pulled it from underneath, glorying in the sight of his pistol, which he had pushed back into his coat as the barrels exploded. It was a miracle it had even stayed with him!

Narrowing his eyes, he cocked it, and lay in wait.

-SSIMH-SSIMH-SSIMH-SSIMH-

Christine had her hand clamped tightly to the wall, feeling her way in the blind step by cautious step. She had been walking for what seemed like hours, but behind her she could still see the tiny glow of the charred remains. She pressed on, hoping for more light, or perhaps a door, locked or otherwise.

At last, she smelt a clean smell in the closeness of the tomb, and a breeze tickled a curl across her cheek. She almost yelled in triumph, but fought to remain subdued. Christine put her palm against the air, walking towards the coolness. A glimmer of moonlight sung to her through a large, man-made looking crack in the ceiling, and she sighed instinctively.

She ran her hands along it, finding a trapdoor sort of tunnel that seemed to lead into the graveyard above. Pushing at it, it creaked heavily and gave way at her fingers. She set it back carefully, spinning on her heel and turning back to Louis. She proceeded a single step when a huge hand clamped down on her mouth, the other circling her waist and dragging her deeper into the shadows.

She lashed out, kicking back and thrashing in Henry's strong grip, but it did not aid her. Christine sank her teeth into Henry's hand, but he merely groaned, and pushed his bleeding palm to his lips desperately. On freeing her mouth, Christine yelled wildly and stretched her arms out towards the crypt where Louis lay, twisting and turning in Henry's strong grasp.

"You cannot escape me again, Christine! Don't you see? We survived! It is destiny that we are together!"

"Get off me!" Christine screamed manically, kicking at Henry's shins and knees, hoping to make him buckle, but he locked his legs and hugged her closer.

"Release me, Henry! I swear to you that this is certainly not destiny! This is simply a cruel, cruel fate! I will never willingly be with you, do you understand? You are nothing of the Henry that I loved!"

"You are right, Christine, I am better! I am the Phantom! I am Eric!"

"No, Henry!" Christine sighed, falling to the floor harshly as Henry finally let her go, "Eric, The Phantom, whoever, is just our combined imaginations, an escape! You helped me realise that Eric was just a dream, let me help you understand the same of the Phantom!"

Henry did not seem to be listening. He stared at her with a hungry intensity that made her wish she had kept the shredded dress on. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned away from Henry, ready to dart should he try to advance. He did, and she still wasn't quick enough.

Landing on top of her, forcing the wind from her lungs, he grabbed her wrists and forced them above her head. Taking a free hand he worked at pulling her shift up over her hips. Christine screamed in outrage, aiming a hard kick at Henry's face. Knocking the mask off bought her time as he fumbled around on the floor to find it, and she was up on her feet and running for her life, his thunderous steps closing in on her.

On entering the main chamber, a deafening blast forced her instinctively to fall to the floor, hands over her head. Looking up through the silence of the moment, she saw the end of Louis' gun smoking, his face set. On the other side of her, Henry had stopped dead in his tracks, a bullet hole in the wall over his shoulder. His face was stone cold, and unreadable.

Christine shuffled out of the way silently as Louis cocked the gun again, but before he could fire, Henry charged him, pushing the gun out of his hand and Louis off the platform. Christine shrieked as Louis howled in agony as his broken body hit the floor.

In an instant, Christine was on her feet searching for the gun, but Henry was quicker, and had it held to her head before she knew it. Louis shouted in fury through his ragged breathing, but Henry held up his hand to silence him, never taking his eyes off Christine.

"Enough! I have had enough of this! Now, Christine, it is time for us to leave. Once I put this dog out of it's misery."

The gun turned on Louis, struggling on the floor, and Christine ran to come between the two of them. Henry cocked his head, confused, yet did not lower the gun.

"If you wish to kill him, Henry," Christine declared, her hands shaking, "then you must kill me first. If I had to choose between a life with you and no life at all, I would gladly choose the latter. I will never let you win. Never. So go ahead and kill me. Wouldn't that be the defining statement of ownership over me? You would finally be God, so just do it. End my life."

Henry never took his eyes from Christine's face, but his hand began to shake, and he lowered the gun slightly.

"Christine," he began, a tear shining on his pearly mask, "I have not met anyone like you. You used to love, and be so, so plein de vie. And this is what I have turned you into. Someone who simply doesn't care. I…I am so sorry."

He dropped the gun, and folded to the floor in a concentrated ball of despair. Christine took the opportunity to grab the gun away from him and stand nearer to Louis, desperately trying to protect him. Henry sobbed and sobbed, his eyes, nose and mouth running and his body heaving up and down with fresh breaths.

He paused as scrabbles were heard above them, and loud voices were heard beyond the rubble. Christine's heart soared. Rescuers! As her spirits raised, Henry's plummeted in a horrifying freefall as he realised time was running out. He got to his feet hastily, causing Christine to stiffen and point the gun at him. Henry opened his arms wide, palms up, in a sign on surrender, or heartbreaking defeat.

"Christine, I know that you will never forgive me for what I've done, and believe me, I do not seek it. Just know that I did all of this for love of you, and trust in that. I am a…a bad, weak person, but never forget that I loved you…love you."

He stepped forward one pace, and another, and Christine slowly lowered the gun, dropping it altogether as Henry closed the distance between their bodies, and pressed his lips against Christine's. Christine finally allowed a tear to fall for her friend, who had loved her so dearly, and was consumed by it and his own failings. She grieved for the loss of his soul, and his sanity.

They stayed locked in their sadness until the voices echoed through the crypt, and screams of rage at the carnage around them were too unbearable to ignore. Christine broke the kiss, and Henry, his eyes glazed in euphoria, smiled slightly, before pushing roughly at Christine so she fell next to Louis.

Henry raised his fist, winked at her, and shuddered as the bullets fell into his back from the new men. Christine wailed terribly as Henry fell into her lap, and she cradled his head as her rescuers surrounded her.

Although he had destroyed her sanity, her marriage, her career, almost her life, Christine truly believed that she had not lost as much as in those final moments of Henry Foillet's life.

Love is a strange thing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Would you like me to write you an epilogue? Give us a shout if you want one, or whether you're happy with it as it stands.**

**Thank you for sticking by me all the way through. I've super enjoyed writing this story and I think it is definitely one of my favourites.**

If I'm honest, I did rush the ending a little bit. The end was in sight and it was very late and I had work in the morning, so I suppose I could have done a lot more.

Anyway, what's done is done, but if you'd like me to write you a little epilogue, I'm sure I could cook something up :)

**Merry Christmas xx **


End file.
